


feeling closer to the stars (outer space)

by poochiekinz



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: And I'm only a little sorry, Asgardian Culture (Marvel), Because you can't stop me, Bisexual Brunnhilde | Valkyrie (Marvel), Bromance to Romance, Bruce & Hulk Interaction, But were the two ever separate?, Does Thor have ADHD because the Author does??, Drama Queen Loki, F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, Hulk's Not A Behind, I can't find the tag for Heimdall & Bruce Banner, I don't really understand why Thor is so obsessed with Bruce's PhDs, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm going to rewrite everything, I'm literally putting every marvel character ever in the tags, M/M, Multi, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, OR IS IT, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Okay Time To Get Serious, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Rewrite, Self-Indulgent, So I made one????, That Loki (Marvel) & Everyone tag??, This Is STUPID, Thor would roundhouse kick that man for a moldy pickle jar, also why does the groot tag have the (marvel) part like what other groot is there, and that Thor (Marvel) & Everyone tag is true except for Thaddeus Ross, because I have so much love to give, is just a joke, just the essentials now I swear it, ok so i need to stop tagging I know, that's what this is, the world may never know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-06 01:37:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15875820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poochiekinz/pseuds/poochiekinz
Summary: After a few moments of breathing exercises, or whatever it is Bruce calls those, Thor smiles sheepishly at his friend’s unimpressed Look. Tired, unimpressed, sorta-pissed-off Look. Thor is very familiar with this look. Once again, his green friend is fond of the expression. “You said you had no feelings about Midgard,” Thor reminds him, even though he’s positive Bruce doesn’t need the reminder. After all, he has seven whatchamacallits.“Fine,” Bruce says, terse, and Thor frowns. Bruce shrinks into the sweatshirt, but it’s not the same as before. Bruce shakes, but it isn’t the trembling of fear that Thor knows, and there’s little green veins poking out from under the sweatshirt’s crewneck. Thor’s frown deepens. “I have definitive feelings about going back to Midgard after years of being away, during which I was taken over by a giant green rage monster and forced to fight for entertainment. Is that what you wanted to hear, Thor?”--A rewrite of literally everything after the end of Thor: Ragnarok, because Thanos fucked me up, and also I'm going to give my children the justice they deserve.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, so, like. I don't know what to say. I wrote this because I'm supposed to be writing something else, and also because I would die for Thor, and I'm posting it here because I think I'm funny. I was re-reading this and I was like lmao u wild and then I was like oh my god I need to die so, like. There's always that. 
> 
> This is a whole thing, I think, and I'm writing it for me??? Because sometimes self-care is writing yourself some fanfiction about ur gay lightning husbands?? But really, this is like, a whole thing, that I'm probably going to abandon, but I think my thought process is that if I post it here, it'll hold me accountable, and I'll maybe not abandon it. 
> 
> I've just made the executive decision to abandon all nerves about posting this. I'm not sorry about writing this, and I never will be. This is for me. I want to write about my guys being dudes, I want to write about them after they've had to hang out in space for a couple months, and I want to write about how all the shit goes down after they wind up on Earth. Because honestly, Infinity War fucked me up real good, and I just need somewhere to un-fuck myself. Ew, that sounds just literally the worst. But anyway, yes, the plan is for this to be a whole thing, and no one can stop me. And I keep writing this note and saying the same things over and over because while I may have written down that I made an executive decision, I really didn't, and I am actually very nervous. 
> 
> Dammit. 
> 
> I'm doing this. I'm doing it. 
> 
> No more stalling. Ugh.

Midgard is a beautiful planet, truly. Thor knows this. Has known it for many years, over a millennia, at this point, yet he also knows it would be even more breathtaking without the annoyance and pettiness of Midgardians. The same way Asgard was, objectively, an absolutely stunning place, and would have been even more riveting without Asgardians to pollute the natural beauty.

But, really. Midgardians take it to a whole new level.

He still loves Midgard, and Midgardians, of course. They might be small, and tiny, and every other word that conveys that Thor and pretty much everything else in the universe is bigger than them, but Thor loves it. Midgardians refuse to acknowledge their size, and always seem to outgrow it. Amazing, truly.

It doesn’t hurt, or anything, that Banner is of Midgard, and that his friends Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis, and Erik Selvig also hail from there. Thor is particularly fond of those Midgardians. They are not tiny, or petty, and if they are, they own it. But they aren’t, so. It doesn’t matter.

Anyway, he talks about this because he can just barely see Midgard out the expansive and, really, just plain overdramatically large window at the front of the _Statesman_. Why the engineers of this vessel didn’t pay more attention to the living quarters, or the kitchens, is beyond Thor. It only makes sense. Banner agrees, of course, because Banner has seven PhDs, and maybe Thor should ask what those are one of these days--

“My King.”

Thor turns his head to Heimdall, one of his dearest friends as well as strongest beings in the universe, and no, he isn’t just saying that because he’s never quite figured out if Heimdall can see into his mind, who carries himself with grace. Also, he carries the sword of the Bifrost. Also, he has a gold cape, which really just looks splendid on him, brings out his eyes, and his brilliant smile--

“Yes, Heimdall?” It is a King’s job to pay attention, of course, and that is Thor’s strength. Always. Yup. He is the best at paying attention. His mind never strays. Honestly, though, Heimdall looks spectacular, how is that possible, he’d been on the run for how long--?

“I have made contact with your Tony Stark,” Heimdall says, and Thor doesn’t have to snap out of his thoughts, because there are no thoughts to snap out of in the first place. Of course. “He has acknowledged our need for refuge, and offered one of his properties for our use.”

Thor beams. “Excellent.” Thor had known Stark would help his peoples. Bruce had been pretty sure, Thor is pretty sure, but Bruce looks anxious about most things. Especially since they’d been in space, and blown up Asgard, and also fought the Goddess of Death herself. There was also that whole Sakaar debacle, which was a whole thing, what with all the trash, fighting to the death, and Thor was seventy-four percent sure that Loki had slept with the--

“My King,” Heimdall says, once more, and Thor never stopped paying attention in the first place, so why had Heimdall even said anything.

“Yes?”

Heimdall smiles, has been smiling, and it is a pleasant thing to see. It is small, almost secretive, but soft, and it eases Thor’s anxieties in most cases. If he has Heimdall in his corner, what can hurt him? Also, he’s the God of Thunder, he can probably just--

“I believe,” Heimdall says, not even close to jarring Thor out of his mind, “that you should speak with with Bruce.” At Thor’s “why would I do that?” expression, Heimdall continues, “About Midgard. And his place amongst us.”

“I’m. . .unsure of what you’re saying.” Thor is tentative. Why would Thor need to talk to Bruce about Midgard? The plan has been to get to Midgard since the beginning. Does he not like the plan? Why didn’t he say something sooner? Why didn't Hulk?

Heimdall looks at him. Really, really looks. Looks pretty much straight through Thor and into the stars beyond the, still too big, window behind him. It's uncomfortable.

“Okay,” Thor agrees, after a few moments of the staring, because one of these days Heimdall will crack after staring and Thor won’t have to decipher the meaning of life all on his own. Soon. It will happen soon, he’s sure of it. “I will speak to Bruce as soon--”

“He is in his quarters,” Heimdall says. He moves to stand next to Thor, just a bit too close, like he’s trying to edge him out, and then does that--that Thing where he squares his shoulders and sets the big, huge, giant Bifrost sword to rest on its tip between his feet. Heimdall’s golden eyes scan the expanse of space between the ship and Midgard.

Thor furrows his brows. “Okay,” he mutters, to himself, because obviously Heimdall wants him to speak to Bruce now. And Heimdall obviously means to stand exactly where Thor had been and watch, which is a little useless, Thor realises as he makes his way down the halls and past the patrons of the ship. What was he going to do if he saw a threat? He was in front of a damned window, for Norns’ sakes, what was his plan? Sit there like an asshole until it was too late? Thor shakes his head. But, he thinks, tapping the code to the crews’ chambers in on the pad, if Heimdall is standing there, it can’t have been that bad of a spot. Tactically speaking? Or maybe Heimdall left as soon as Thor did, and is making fun of him at this moment--

Thor types in the code to Bruce’s quarters into the pad next to the door, and waits for the door to open. The _Statesman_ is an older ship, so the doors seem to be having a bit of trouble, as of late, even with Bruce-I-Have-Seven-PhDs-Banner working on them, so Thor squeezes through as soon as there was enough space. Then, Thor pretends he’s not stuck until the doors open some more, and definitely doesn’t feel relief when he sees Bruce facing away from him. He’s King of Asgard. He can--can break these stupid doors if he so wants to. The only reason these (stupid) doors are safe are because they’re Bruce’s doors. The second they leave the _Statesman_ , Thor swears, glaring at the doors, he’s going to bust those things up.

Entering the room with zero difficulty whatsoever, literally no problems at all, Thor makes a beeline for the desk in the corner of the room.

Bruce’s room is, to put it very mildly, messy. There are pages on the floor, weird scraps of fabric that Bruce had used when he’d run out of paper, and clothing. The quarters weren’t very larger to begin with, and they had come with a decent-sized bed and a nice desk, as well as a window seat. The bed is unmade, and Thor very much doubts it has ever been made, and the window seat is crumpled and there are markings and pages stuck up on the window itself. Good. At least that makes use of the exorbitant amount of space the damned things take up.

At this particular juncture in time, Bruce sits at his desk, bent over with his glasses perched on the edge of his nose, and his head pillowed on his arms. He’s in a sweatshirt that Loki, of all beings, had conjured up for him, electric blue with little yellow lightning bolts patterned all over the thing. If it makes Thor’s heart skip a beat to see Bruce wearing it, that’s his business, and his business alone, and Heimdall, if you can hear this, you tell no one. No one.

Carefully, Thor says, “Banner?” and rests his hands on his good friend’s slumped shoulders. Thor frowns at how tense Bruce is, like a rock, or something, you know, tense. “Easy there,” Thor soothes, or tries to, when Bruce jumps under his palms. He rubs Bruce’s shoulders easily, like all friends do, and smiles.

“Thor?” Bruce asks, and his voice is a little hoarse, like he’d been napping, and that’s not even a little bit cute. Like, not even the tiniest, little shred. Not at all.

“Yup.” Thor rubs Bruce’s shoulders a little harder, just for a moment, before letting go and sitting down on the edge of his buddy’s bed. The desk and bed were close enough Thor can still reach Bruce from his perch. But that has nothing to do with why he chose this particular spot.

Bruce’s vertebrae pops as he stretches, and the sweatshirt is too big on him, and Thor doesn’t notice even a little bit at all, and Bruce rubs his eyes and knocks his glass off his nose. He straightens them up, though, and Thor wasn’t even thinking about fixing them himself. Bruce is independent. He can do it himself. Unless he needs help, in which case Thor is available. In the friendliest way possible.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Bruce slurs out, still sleepy and stretching.

“Ah,” Thor says, and he very quickly realizes that he should have come up with a plan on his way here. What had he wasted all that time thinking about? Something stupid, probably. “I just--” Thor looks around the room. “Wanted to--see what you were, uh, up to. Of course.”

Bruce blinks.

Thor blinks.

“Okay,” Bruce says, and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. Thor does not squirm, because Kings do not squirm. “Well, I was, uh, napping, until you, um, came in. So.”

“Cool.” Thor also does not wince, because Kings do not wince.

Approximately three seconds of silence pass before Thor--well, he doesn’t crack, per se, because Kings do not crack, but he--he cracks, okay, fine, he totally cracks, like a bilgesnipe egg falling from the nest and to the ground below. Sue him.

“I came to ask about how you’re feeling,” Thor says, tentative, “about the whole--the whole Midgard situation.”

Bruce tenses and hides in the sweatshirt folds. Which is neither cute nor helpful, of course. “Oh.” Bruce does not sound pleased, and that’s not good. “I mean.” Bruce scratches at the back of his head, where his greying hair has started to darken after all the time in space, and Thor looks at one curl that clings to Bruce’s temple. Curls are so funny, when Thor really thinks about them, because what’s the purpose, really, and what purpose does hair really serve-- “I feel fine, I guess.”

“Hm,” Thor says. “You feel fine. That’s no good.”

Bruce gives him a Look, the one where he’s unimpressed by Thor’s general impressiveness. Thor chooses to take no offense. He gets the same look from Hulk a lot. “It’s not bad, Thor. It’s just--fine, y’know? I don’t--I don’t have any feelings about Midgard--about Earth whatsoever. I’m totally fine.”

“Oh,” Thor says, nodding along. “That’s good, then, because we’re about ten minutes out.”

In between one blink and the next, Bruce’s whole demeanour changes. One second, he looks all sleepy and cute in his uncomfortable desk chair, the next he’s frazzled, wide-eyed, and standing. He’s heaving in breath after breath, chest rising and falling rapidly, and his face has lost all color.

“Why didn’t--what--we’re--what--” Bruce is not taking this very well, Thor observes mildly. His friend is dear to him, of course, and Thor does not wish to see him in distress, but this is proving his point very, very well. “How close--oh, my god--”

Thor stands when he sees splotches of green and places heavy hands on Bruce’s shoulders, and Bruce is so small, so much smaller than Thor, it’s hard to resist the temptation to rest his chin on top of Bruce’s curls. Actually. That may not be that bad of an idea. As he rubs Bruce’s shoulders comfortingly, Thor files that idea away to be tested at a later date. What? Bruce has his experiments, why can’t Thor?

“Breathe, Bruce,” Thor says, rubs his compatriot’s shoulders some more, reaches out to scrub away at a green streak on his forehead. “We’re still a couple hours from Midgard.”

The effect is instantaneous. Bruce deflates, all the green spots start to fade, and Thor is left supporting Bruce’s dead weight. Anxiety is such a strange ailment, Thor thinks as he guides Bruce to sit. Truly, anxiety is as strange as it is useless. Thor rubs at Bruce’s arms and shoulders some more, because why not, he’s sixty-four percent sure Bruce appreciates it, and now Thor is sitting at the desk and Bruce is on the bed.

After a few moments of breathing exercises, or whatever it is Bruce calls those, Thor smiles sheepishly at his friend’s unimpressed Look. Tired, unimpressed, sorta-pissed-off Look. Thor is very familiar with this look. Once again, his green friend is fond of the expression. “You said you had no feelings about Midgard,” Thor reminds him, even though he’s positive Bruce doesn’t need the reminder. After all, he has seven whatchamacallits.

“Fine,” Bruce says, terse, and Thor frowns. Bruce shrinks into the sweatshirt, but it’s not the same as before. Bruce shakes, but it isn’t the trembling of fear that Thor knows, and there’s little green veins poking out from under the sweatshirt’s crewneck. Thor’s frown deepens. “I have definitive feelings about going back to Midgard after years of being away, during which I was taken over by a giant green rage monster and forced to fight for entertainment. Is that what you wanted to hear, Thor?”

“No,” Thor says, because it’s true, “but it’s what I expected.” He rubs some more at Bruce’s shoulders, who relaxes into it just a little bit, and it’s that little bit that keeps Thor from pulling away. “I don’t understand why you didn’t say that when I asked the first time.”

Bruce squirms. Well, as much as he can squirm, with all the pressure Thor’s hands are putting on him. Which isn’t a lot, and maybe Thor should ease up some-- “I just--” Bruce huffs. Rubs some more sleep out of his eyes with trembling fingers. His glasses are filthy, what has he been doing-- “You’re a king, Thor. You have better things to worry about than me--uh, than me and my, uh, feelings.”

Thor doesn’t miss Bruce’s slip-up, and tightens his grip on his friend’s shoulders. Thor ducks down to meet Bruce’s eyes with his one good one, or his only one, actually-- “I’m King, yeah,” Thor says, because it’s true, “and the only way to be a good King is to take care of all of my people.” Thor tightens his grip just a little, itty bit more. “Your anxieties about Midgard and our return there are just as important to me as Sigvat’s, or Brunnhilde’s.” It’s at times like these that Thor wonders if Hulk’s thick skull is a shared trait between the beast and the scientist.

Bruce can’t really shake anymore underneath Thor’s hands. Oh. Thor pulls back some, or he tries to, but Bruce reaches up to his shoulders and grips onto Thor’s hands, pushes them back down. His breaths come out shallow, unsure, but he’s breathing, and there’s color in his face, so Thor places this firmly into the Win category. Thor doesn’t stop trying to meet his friend’s gaze, because Kings do not back down, and eventually Bruce meets his eye. Thor smiles.

“Understand?” Thor asks, soft. He’s been trying to work on his volume control for the few months they’ve been drifting through space, because Bruce appreciates it, and also because Loki is less stabby when Thor is less yelly. Brunnhilde drinks no matter what he does, though, so that’s still a work in progress.

“Yeah,” Bruce says, and his voice is still breathy and too quiet, but Thor knows better than to push him. Or, Thor knows better than to push him in this particular moment.

“Marvelous,” Thor says, and grins largely so Bruce will smile back. It works, obviously, it always does, and Thor stands. He takes his hands off Bruce’s shoulders, mostly because he can’t reach them if he’s standing and Bruce is sitting, but also because he needs to go. “Come and talk to Loki and Brunnhilde with me.”

“In a minute,” Bruce says, and he flops back on his bed. The sweatshirt pulls up, and Thor can see the weird belt Brunnhilde had fashioned out of--actually, Thor has no clue, but it’s a belt-adjacent that Brunnhilde had made for Bruce after all of Bruce’s pants hadn’t fit quite right. The belt-sorta-thing is glossy, and the holes are precise, having been poked with Dragonfang itself, and, Really, Bruce Does Not Appreciate That-- “Promise.” Bruce stretches just a little bit more, and Thor really needs to leave, because he can see Bruce’s stomach, and that’s no good, uh oh--

“Sure,” Thor says, and doesn’t walk into the closed doors. He really, really doesn't. He also doesn't swear vengeance upon them, because that's beneath a King. Of course.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “AllSpeak will allow us to communicate with the Midgardians just like any other language,” Thor elaborates, making sure to smile so everyone feels comfortable, and also so they think he has any clue he knows what he’s doing. Thor rattles his brain for a way to explain the slang and jargon of Midgard, which are plenty, since there are so many damn languages. “Can you hear a difference between my brother’s speech and mine?” Hopefully his people can’t hear the desperation in his voice as much as he can.
> 
> From the crowd comes a few nods. Good, good. They’re engaged, at least, if not understanding. Now if only Thor knew what to say next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set BEFORE the last chapter and I wasn't sure how to convey that in the text itself. If I ever finish this fic then I'll probs overhaul the whole thing, anyway, so ok. Thanks. shoutout to my homeslice r.t. for the undying love and support throughout my life.

“So AllSpeak. . .” Bolla trails off, unsure, and tugs at the ends of her braids.

Everyone’s gathered in the dining hall, with the tables in clusters and chairs shoved together. It’s the Midgardian and Etiquette and Culture Class, the first of its kind, and yet Thor--is struggling. 

“AllSpeak will allow us to communicate with the Midgardians just like any other language,” Thor elaborates, making sure to smile so everyone feels comfortable, and also so they think he has any clue he knows what he’s doing. Thor rattles his brain for a way to explain the slang and jargon of Midgard, which are plenty, since there are so many damn languages. “Can you hear a difference between my brother’s speech and mine?” Hopefully his people can’t hear the desperation in his voice as much as he can. 

From the crowd comes a few nods. Good, good. They’re engaged, at least, if not understanding. Now if only Thor knew what to say next. 

“What are some of them?” Bruce jumps in, and Thor blinks. He turns to his friend, who looks a little apprehensive, definitely like he wants to jump off the little stage Thor had made in the dining hall, but that’s not allowed. Thor nods at him in what he hopes to the Norns is encouraging and steps back to let Bruce take over. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? Oh, right, he had. He’d just assumed Bruce, you know, wouldn’t want to do it. He’s glad he was wrong. “Yes--uh, Galti, right?”

“Yes,” Galti says, voice deep, and stands. Thor smiles at Bruce’s back. “When Prince Loki curses, ‘tis not the same as King Thor’s.” 

Thor doesn’t guffaw, but it’s a close thing. He doesn’t curse that much. . .does he? 

“Yes,” Bruce agrees, and he smiles at Galti like it was the perfect answer. Galti smiles back very happily before taking his seat once again. Wow. Bruce should have been doing this from the start. “Anyone else?” he asks the room, and more hands go up than last time. “Er, is it--Astrid?”

“Estrid,” Estrid corrects, and the muscular Asgardian rises. She waves off Bruce’s apology with her hand, and while she doesn’t smile, it’s more because she’s a warrior and not because she’s upset he got her name wrong. And it was only a little wrong, anyway. “I once overheard King Thor say the powder rooms on the ship were--” Her face screws up as she twists her tongue around the words, AllSpeak and memory wrapping around one another and attempting to work together. “‘Cold--as balls.’”

This time, Thor can’t hold back his guffaw, and even though he tries to cover it with a cough, he knows it does nothing. How had Estrid even heard him? She’s huge, impossible to miss in any situation, and Thor would not have said that if he’d known she were nearby. Was she in the vents? How’d she fit in there--

Bruce glares at him, and Thor nods his head in apology, before the scientist turns back to Estrid with his Teaching Smile on. “That’s a great example, Estrid.”

“I must inquire to the meaning.” 

Bruce doesn’t blush, which is interesting, but not for any weird reasons, or anything, but it’s just--interesting, okay. “It’s a saying on Mid--on Earth that means it’s really, really cold.”

“And what of the wording?” Estrid’s eyebrows are drawn down in concentration, or maybe confusion. But seriously, where had she been hiding? She’s, like, six feet tall and has muscles almost as big as Thor’s. “Why ‘balls?’”

“Balls are testicles,” Brunnhilde calls out, just as Bruce opens his mouth, and the few clumps of Asgardian children giggle before their parents swat their heads. Bruce smiles a little ruefully, and Thor doesn’t even pay him any attention, like, at all. Not even a little. 

Somehow, Estrid looks even more confused. “There is nothing to be understood, of this.”

Bruce scratches the back of his head, and Thor doesn’t stare at his curls, because he’s paying very close attention to the lesson. He has AllSpeak, too, okay, and he needs to learn. And not about Bruce’s funny little curls. “Maybe,” he says slowly, dropping his hand, “I should go ahead and say that most Earth sayings don’t make any sense at all.”

“Earth,” Estrid echoes. Bruce brightens.

“Yes, Earth.” He raises his voice so the room at large can hear him. “You know it as Midgard, but if you say that to someone on the street, they’ll have no idea what you’re talking about. They call it Earth.”

“They are not Midgardian,” Estrid says, and she looks very concentrated, and also still way too big to fit into any vents, “they are--Earth-ian?”

Bruce shakes his head, and he’s still smiling. “No, no. You have the right idea, but people on Earth call themselves--er, we call ourselves humans. Just human.”

Estrid looks at Bruce peculiarly. Thor looks at her arms in much the same way. Seriously, she’s ripped. Where could she have possibly been to overhear him-- “You are hoo-man?”

Bruce smiles and tilts his head just a little bit to the side, confused. “Uh, yeah? I’m from Earth, so. I’m human.” 

“Bruce Banner and Hulk fought, Asgard’s safety is owed to both of them,” Estrid says, and Thor wonders if he sounded like that through the AllSpeak translator when he was with the Avengers. Probably not, since Tony Stark didn’t bully him to death. “Bruce Banner and Hulk are highly esteemed in King Thor’s gaze; King Thor is Asgard, makes Asgard. Bruce Banner and Hulk is Asgardian.” 

Thor wonders if he would die if he threw himself into the cold vacuum of space. Probably. He wonders why Estrid has to go exposing everyone like this. Then he wonders why he’s getting so upset, because it’s not like it’s untrue. And it’s not like it’s embarrassing to have said out loud. Thor’s brows furrow. Actually, yeah. What is he so upset about, then? Is he still on that “balls” thing? He’ll just talk to Estrid about it, later--

“Oh, no,” Bruce says, and his tone snaps Thor’s attention to him. He sounds a little frantic, a little embarrassed, and very uncomfortable. He’s holding his hands out, like he needs to defend himself. Or even explain himself. And that’s--that’s no good. Thor stands and begins to head over. “No, no, I’m human, really--”

“No,” Estrid says, simple and to the point, and she and Thor are definitely going to have words later, and, wow, he really needs to get over this-- 

“No?” Bruce asks. His hands fall to his sides. Thor’s only a few feet away, now. The crowd murmurs and shifts, but there’s no threat--just confusion.

“No.” Estrid’s lost the peculiar look. Instead, she’s got on something closer to--it might be the uniquely Asgardian brand of stubborn, or it might just be a warrior’s belief that they’re right. All Thor knows is that he used to have that same look all the time, before he was banished that short time ago. Now he sees it mostly in the reflection of the windows of the  _ Statesmen _ whenever he and Loki get into arguments. “Bruce Banner is of Asgard.” 

Thor drops his hands onto Bruce’s slumped shoulders, and his friend barely jumps, unusual, and Thor smiles at Estrid in a way that he hopes expresses how he feels about the whole “balls” thing. “Thank you, Estrid, for your participation!”

Estrid bows her head, perfectly polite. “I am pleased to assist the King in this.” She smiles at Bruce, then, and maybe the whole “balls” thing isn’t really that bad, in the grand scheme of things. “I am pleased to assist Bruce Banner in this, also, as well.” 

“Thanks,” Bruce mutters, and the scientist leans back into Thor’s chest, and that’s perfectly fine, of course, all friends do this all the time. Then, Bruce shakes himself a little bit, and seems a little bit more--what’s the word--alive? “Thanks, Estrid, really. I’m glad to help you out, too, y’know.” 

How Bruce knows what to say to make Estrid smile like that, Thor isn’t sure. Estrid sits and looks pleased with herself, which is always good for one of the best warriors Asgard has left, now. Bruce is so good at everything. Of course, Thor means that in the friendliest, most platonic way possible, because that is the extent of the feelings he has for Bruce. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready for a bunch of chapters, boyos, I'm comin in hot because I've been writing all week in preparation of posting once a week on Fridays but I got really excited so yeah get ready


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t touch me, you oaf.” Loki shoves him away, and Thor only barely dodges the dagger aimed at his side. Thor laughs, booming laughter that he knows annoys his little brother, and true to form, Loki goes in for the kill once more. Metaphorical, of course. Thor snatches the knife from Loki’s grip, gets knicked in the process, and shoves his brother away before Loki can pull one of his many other blades. 
> 
> “Cut it out, Loki,” Thor says.
> 
> \--
> 
> just a little rock paper scissors joke. jk it's a joke about knives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is AFTER the last TWO CHAPTERS  
> the order so far is 2, 1, 3 in the timeline of the fic
> 
> another shoutout to r.t. my homegirl no homo

The dining hall is large, sterile, and the perfect place for brothers to argue.

“I really think,” Loki says, for the gazillionth time, and Thor feels sparks dance across his knuckles, “I should stay on the ship. Midgardians are foul, and the atmosphere ruins my hair every time I’m there--”

“Brother,” Thor says, and claps Loki on the shoulder, knowing full-well that his hands are still sparking and energized. Loki doesn’t wince, but he does jump just a teensy bit, and the ends of his hair stand. “Shut up.” Would a King say that? “Please,” Thor adds, because a King could say that, probably.

“Don’t touch me, you oaf.” Loki shoves him away, and Thor only barely dodges the dagger aimed at his side. Thor laughs, booming laughter that he knows annoys his little brother, and true to form, Loki goes in for the kill once more. Metaphorical, of course. Thor snatches the knife from Loki’s grip, gets knicked in the process, and shoves his brother away before Loki can pull one of his many other blades.

“Cut it out, Loki,” Thor says. He watches his brother huff and straighten his tunic-thing out, roll his eyes, before strutting back over. Thor offers his little brother the handle side of the blade, and Loki takes it with a level of snobbery Thor doesn’t think he’s really entitled to in this situation. “I already told you. You’re not staying on the ship when we reach Midgard.”

“You forget yourself, brother,” Loki says, pouts, really, and Thor resists the urge to grab him in a headlock. He’s fifteen-hundred years old. He’s outgrown this. “You may be King, but I am not to be controlled.”

“Of course not,” Thor says, amicable, totally humoring Loki. Because, really. Thor has fallen victim to many of his brother’s jests, and is, perhaps, too trusting of the literal God of Mischief, but Loki has never been the only smart son of Odin. “But you admit that I am King.”

“I’m staying on the ship.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, Loki, really--”

“It wasn’t a question--”

“Stop talking.” Thor, risking his hand, and life, actually, reaches out and just. Pushes Loki’s lips shut. Good thing his brother is such a drama queen, because Loki pretty much goes into shock that Thor would have the gall to touch his lips, let alone silence him, which is what Thor was hoping for. He stops talking. Awesome. “Yes, the last time you were there, you. . .broke New York, a little, but we all have our reasons. I trust that, one day, you will tell me what they were. And even if you don’t, you’ve changed. If they cannot see that, then Midgard is not for us.”

Loki gives Thor his “my brother is the stupidest being in the entire universe” Look. It’s a little watered down, though, because of the--trance-thing he’s in since Loki is the most dramatic ever.

“You have nothing to fear,” Thor says, speaking a little faster than normal, and maybe edging away because he’s not a hundred percent sure what Loki will do when he--breaks out of his trance, or whatever, that he’s in. “Not from Midgard, nor from its people. I will not let any harm come to you, neither will Brunnhilde, or Heimdall, or Bruce, or Korg, or Miek--”

“Okay,” Loki snaps, and he’s blushing, so his trance must be ending, “okay, shut up, stop talking, I’m not scared--”

“--or Estrid, or Hulk, or--well, actually--”

“Brother, shut up,” Loki hisses, and Thor sees the telltale glint of silver at his brother’s hip, and that means he’s about to get stabby, and maybe King of Asgard shouldn’t tease his little brother like this.

Thor holds his hands up in surrender. But he meets Loki’s eyes. “You’re coming with us to Midgard,” Thor says, and he uses some of the Kingly Voice, the one that Bruce and Hulk and Brunnhilde say make him sound older and like he actually sometimes knows what he’s doing, “and Brunnhilde will not leave your side. This is my decision, and so it shall be.”

There’s defiance in his little brother’s eyes for a few moments, and Thor tenses, prepares for a scrap, maybe to be shanked a few times, but Loki drops his eyes and turns his molten glare to the floor. The glint at his hip disappears from view. Huh.

Of course, Loki doesn’t admit defeat, or say anything along the lines of “yes of course dearest brother who is only ever looking out for me I will definitely listen to you,” but Thor can read between the lines. If he reads a little too much, well, that’s his problem.

“Do not look so smug, brother.” Loki glares at Thor from where he’s crossed his arms to properly pout. His hair still looks a little on the electrocuted side, sticking up funnily near his ears and shoulders. Thor says nothing, because he appreciates all ten of his fingers his one working eye.

It reminds Thor of simpler times, years and years ago, back when Frigga would grab them both by their ears and tell them off for stealing pastries from the kitchens. Loki would pout, always a mother’s boy, and Thor would grin. A dull pain in his chest reminds Thor those times are exactly that--simpler, and long-since past. He can dwell on the memories of his boyhood after he leads his people to the relative safety of Midgard. Which, the more he thinks about it, is a weird place to go to, because how often had he helped to save the planet from complete destruction in the past six years--

“Your majesty,” Brunnhilde calls, the respect of her words in direct conflict with the utter carelessness in her tone, but Thor would have his good friend no other way. He turns from his brother and smiles at Brunnhilde, who walks to the middle of the dining hall followed by a slinking Bruce. Thor tries not to let his vision tunnel. He’s King. All of his people are important to him, and he would die for any of them, and they are all worthy of his time. But Bruce is a close, close personal friend, and it’s understandable for him to be worried about him in particular. Right? Right.

“Brunnhilde,” Thor returns, grinning, and claps his friend on the shoulder. He very carefully controls the sparks from his fingers, because the last time he’d done that--well, that was the last time he’d done that. “I see you’ve managed to lure Bruce from his cave!”

Brunnhilde pulls Bruce under her arm, even though he’s a couple inches taller than her, and smirks. Bruce does not. Thor’s grin grows. “I could feel him angsting from the kitchens,” she complains, and shakes Bruce a little to get the point across.

“I wasn’t angsting,” Bruce mutters, not sounding too excited, but Thor can’t see any green bits, so he figures they’re probably fine. “I was--I was thinking, there’s a difference.”

“We know, Bruce,” Brunnhilde says, humoring him. “We know.” She turns her attention back to Thor, and her face grows just that bit more solemn, more sober. How much has she had to drink today, anyway? Is it a good idea for her to drink when she’s in charge of his little brother’s well-being? Has she gone through all the alcohol on the ship yet? “How far are we, now?”

“About--”

“About four hours,” Loki interrupts, the complete and utter prat, and he even smirks when Thor turns to glare at him.

Before Thor can say or do anything, such as fry his brother until the smell of Burnt follows him around all day, Brunnhilde says, “Thank you, my Prince, but I believe I asked the King, so if you’d kindly back off, it’d be much appreciated.”

Brunnhilde is so strange.

Thor loves her, of course, even as he watches on as she gets into a--some sort of duel?--fight with his brother. She wields Dragonfang, which is still the coolest thing to exist Ever, especially on a shitty ship like the _Statesman_ , and Thor moves to the side and pulls Bruce along with him as the two continue to--fight, or whatever. Loki has his cheap daggers, but he’s always been very good with them, so Thor doesn’t do anything as stupid as underestimate him. Thor knows that Brunnhilde will win, but that’s just because it’s Brunnhilde.

“You gonna--you know, do something about that?” Bruce asks, and Thor can see him fidgeting out of the corner of his eye. Luckily, he’s on the side of Thor that still has vision. The sweatshirt is still too big, and it’s still Not a Problem, okay, and it really isn’t even worth mentioning and Thor doesn’t even know why mentioned it because it so isn’t worth it. So not worth it.

“Nah,” Thor says.

There’s a lull in the conversation, filled by the sounds of Loki and Brunnhilde fighting.

“. . .did Loki try to stab you?” Bruce asks. He’s still fidgeting. The sweatshirt is still not worth mentioning.

“Yeah,” Thor says, and watches on as Brunnhilde incapacitates his brother with a chokehold. It’s a beautiful sight. He has to hold in a sigh, seriously. If only his evil sister hadn’t killed all the Valkyries. Hm. That’s not a very happy thought--

“Why?”

“Why does he do anything?”

“Because he feels like it,” Bruce says, quiet, but Thor is King of Asgard and has superior hearing. The two are unrelated, of course, but equally as important. “Did you tell him it’s ‘cause he’s gonna have a babysitter on Midg--on Earth?”

Thor shrugs, still very much interested in the brawl going on before his very eye. “Probably. You know how he likes to pretend to be independent.”

“I can hear you,” Loki says, voice slightly choked as Brunnhilde utterly destroys him.

“And I can see you,” Bruce shoots back, “getting your ass handed to you. It’s what you get for trying to stab everyone all the time.”

“You Midgardians--” Loki interrupts himself with a wheeze, since Brunnhilde’s leg is probably crushing his windpipe, and, wow, Loki’s lasting longer than he did last time they fought. Thor’s a little impressed with his little brother. “Always taking things--so--personally--”

Bruce doesn’t say anything, and Thor imagines it’s because Brunnhilde’s ass-handling, as Bruce says, is doing all the talking for him. Thor’s brows furrow. That doesn’t sound quite right, does it--

“Yield, Odinson,” Brunnhilde says, voice low, and if Thor didn’t know her he’d probably shit his pants out of fear. As it stands, he does know her, and this is not her Dangerous Voice. Loki will probably be fine. If he yields.

Thor’s brows furrow some more, because he knows Loki, grew up alongside him, and knows how difficult the little punk is about his pride. Maybe he should step in--

Bruce elbows him. Thor glances at him, and he’s pretty sure Bruce is thinking the same thing, which means he should probably do it.

“Enough, Brunnhilde,” Thor says, and Brunnhilde releases his brother promptly. Loki gasps and heaves on the floor of the dining hall while Brunnhilde sheathes her Dragonfang and comes back over to stand next to Bruce. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my King.” She smirks, and it’s really a good thing she decided to stand in his single line of sight. Was it on purpose? Who knows. Not Thor, that’s for sure.

“When we’re on Earth,” Bruce says, “try not to do--that.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Brunnhilde says solemnly.

Loki wheezes out some curse, and Thor laughs. Hopefully, the curse is not of the magical variety, because they’d been in space for months at this point, and Loki is temperamental on his best days, so everyone has already had enough of those. Not to mention, Thor was Loki’s guinea pig growing up, always getting tricked and magicked by his sneaky little brother. One time, Thor was, quite literally, a guinea pig. Why Loki did that, Thor still has no clue. Maybe it was a joke. More likely, Loki was angry at Thor for something neither had any control over.

Ah, the wonders of boyhood.

“Do you require assistance, my Prince?” Brunnhilde asks, because she’s an asshole.

“Yes,” Loki says, because he is also an asshole.

Why is Thor surrounded by assholes? Wait, that doesn’t sound right, either, does it--

“Please,” Bruce says, warily watching as Brunnhilde goes back over to “help” Loki, “no more fighting. I’m already pretty stressed out--”

Thor wraps an arm around Bruce, companionably, of course, and pulls him close. “They would never stress you out, Bruce,” Thor says, jovial, and glares at Brunnhilde and Loki over his friend’s head. He hopes they’re picking up on what he’s putting down. And what he‘s putting down is that he will harm them should he be proven wrong. “Right, friends?”

Brunnhilde yanks Loki to his feet--she’s so strong--and Loki manages to look a little graceful when he stands and brushes himself off. “Right, my King,” Brunnhilde says, and she’s being disrespectful again, but it doesn’t really matter, because she’s still holding Loki’s hand. Thor blinks at it.

As if burned, Loki drops it and runs the hand through his hair, finally smoothing down all the frazzled bits from earlier. He doesn’t answer, and Thor may be half-blind, but he can still see the blush on his baby brother’s cheeks.

Thor doesn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with any of that, so he doesn’t, and just. Ignores it, for the time being. He’ll talk with Bruce about it later. Much, much, much later. Possibly never.

“Okay,” Thor says. Looks at Bruce’s head. It’s the closest thing that doesn’t involve his little brother or his asshole friend. Why is Bruce’s hair so curly-- “Did you come here for something in particular, Brunnhilde, or purely because you missed me?”

Luckily, Thor is both God of Thunder and Breaking Tension.

“Estrid wished to speak with you, my King,” Brunnhilde says, and Thor doesn’t have to peel his focus away from Bruce’s hair because that would be absolutely ridiculous.

Thor’s brows furrow. “Why?”

Brunnhilde smiles. So it can’t be that bad, right? “She wishes to speak about defenses, and how to properly deal with Midgardians--excuse me, humans,” she corrects herself at Bruce’s glance, “who wish to duel.”

“Humans who wish to duel. . .” Thor lets go of Bruce, and does not think about how cold he is without the scientist standing close. “Apologies, friends, but I’m needed elsewhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> has anyone ever seen that clip of john krasinski where he's talking about his daughter and hold on instead of me inadequately describing it I'm going to instead link it hold on a minute
> 
> https://youtu.be/2mPsb3V-Y1g
> 
> okay now when you go to the video go to 2:50 and wait and that's when the backstory starts I think but the Real bit is at 2:58
> 
> but anyway that clip is what I was thinking about just now when I wrote that last part with Estrid but instead of john krasinski it's me watching thor sprint away in worry and me going "where is that estrid"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Midgardians are fragile,” Thor says.
> 
> “I have seen Bruce Banner punch you, King. Frail Midgardians would not dare incur the wrath of the King of Asgard, God of Thunder.”
> 
> Where the fuck does Estrid hide to see the most incriminating moments of Thor’s existence?
> 
> Thor refuses to acknowledge the coloring of his cheeks. It doesn’t happen, not even a little. “Yes, okay,” Thor says.

“We can’t go around dueling with the Midgardians, Estrid.”

Thor wonders how many times he’s said this. Four? Five? Enough to make his head hurt, to make his knuckles jump with electricity. He hopes Estrid doesn’t notice. She probably does, since she’s a formidable warrior, one with many drinking songs about her conquests both in and out of battle. Her grey hair is cut short, now, and her brown skin is littered with scars that speak of battles long-since past, but she still has the eye of a warrior. Two eyes, actually, which is one more than he has.

“I do not understand, King,” Estrid says, also for the fourth or fifth time. “How else are we to bond and form close alliances with the hoo-mans? Fighting is the surest way to develop bonds. We must duel. We must fight, King.”

Thor resists the urge to scrub at his face. He’s King of Asgard. Estrid is one of his most trusted advisors, has been since the fall of Asgard and the Fulfillment of the Prophecy. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Bruce likes her, and has ever since that day all those months ago, during that first Midgardian Etiquette and Culture Class. Ever since she’d exposed Thor for saying the bathrooms were cold as balls. Which he is over, by the way. Totally, one-hundred percent, completely over.

“Midgardians are fragile,” Thor says.

“I have seen Bruce Banner punch you, King. Frail Midgardians would not dare incur the wrath of the King of Asgard, God of Thunder.”

Where the fuck does Estrid hide to see the most incriminating moments of Thor’s existence?

Thor refuses to acknowledge the coloring of his cheeks. It doesn’t happen, not even a little. “Yes, okay,” Thor says, and he does scrub at his beard, and he sees little sparks pop from the motion, “but Bruce isn’t Midgardian, and--listen, you’ve been there for every single Midgardian lesson, you know they live for very short times, and weigh very little. We really can’t fight them. They would die.”

There’s some desperation creeping into his voice, and that’s fine, it’s only Estrid to hear him. She’ll only spill all of his secrets to the entirety of Asgard, but it’s totally fine.

Estrid, at least, nods. That’s--that’s good, Thor is pretty sure that’s good. “Yes, they are rather small, aren’t they?”

Thor nods. Nods a little more than is maybe strictly necessary, but anything to get Estrid, who is a dear friend, of course, and a trusted member of his cabinet, to understand this particular point is worth the sacrifice of a little bit of pride. But only a little, itty bit. Thor knows he has a lot to spare, but still.

“What if I were to be very, very. . .very careful with them?” Estrid asks, voice slow, thoughtful.

Neither of the Asgardians in the room move when the half of the lights blow out in showers of sparks.

“No,” Thor says, voice slow, as well, but with pain and not thought. “No duels, not even if you used styrofoam swords and fought in a bouncy house.”

“I do not know what styrofoam is.”

“Apologies.”

“Accepted,” Estrid says. “You must show me when we arrive to Earth.”

“If you promise not to duel any Midgardians.”

Estrid looks thoughtful. “. . .you must also show me a. . .a bounce house.”

“Agreed,” Thor says quickly. Stark probably has a bouncy house. And even if he doesn’t, Thor can find one, probably. Or he can ask Bruce to make one, because the more he thinks about it, there may not be a bouncy house in existence that can withstand Estrid Grimsdottir bouncing around in it, and Bruce has seven PhD’s--

“You seem preoccupied, King,” Estrid says. Looks at him. There isn’t a good outcome to Estrid looking at him like that, not in any universe Thor knows of.

“I am.” Thor doesn’t take a step back, because he’s not scared of Estrid. She’s forty-nine-hundred, okay, old and past her prime, and he’s fifteen-hundred, young and spry--

“We should duel,” Estrid says, solemn. Keeps looking at him.

Thor takes another step back. Okay, so he is a little scared. He’s not stupid. “Estrid, no--”

There’s only one way to describe the look on Estrid’s face, and that is “Estrid yes.”

Estrid punches him in the stomach, and it hurts, yes, but Thor really doesn’t have time for a friendly duel--

“Estrid, seriously--”

Thor loses his breath for a second as Estrid punches him again, harder. Much, much harder. And, okay, so they’re only a few hours away from landing on Midgard, and Thor probably has some Kingly duties he needs to attend to, but he and Estrid are warriors, and one little, bitty duel won’t put him that much behind his non-existent schedule--

The next punch, Estrid goes for Thor’s jaw, and while Thor doesn’t really want to hurt Estrid, he’s pretty sure he can’t do a ton of damage while in space and in a big hunk of junk like the _Statesman_ , so he lets his vision spark and pop with only a little bit of trepidation. The tendrils of bright blue electricity catch Estrid’s fist in a cage, and the smell of cloth burning quickly fills the air of the training room.

Estrid’s smile is sharp, and she’s going to break him to pieces.

Thor grins back, because he’s going to take some of her with him.

With strength that only comes with age like hers, Estrid breaks free of the cage, and immediately brings her leg to sweep Thor’s out from under him.

Everything devolves very quickly, after that.

One second, Thor’s jumping to avoid that leg, the next both he and Estrid are rolling around on the ground. Thor tastes blood, copper, and sees flashes of light in the dimly lit room that he can only assume come from him. He’s not really sure which part of him is lit up, but he’s pretty sure it’s his hands, maybe his eye. There’s bright spots of pain on his body, from where Estrid unabashedly wails on him, but he gives as good as he gets--

\--and everything is easy, for a few minutes. Just a few. It’s all fists and sparks, blood dripping from the corner of Estrid’s mouth, the smell of ozone filling the air. Simple, if not a little on the painful side.

Then, “Thor!” is yelled into the room, and so, okay, maybe he got a little carried away, but Estrid had punched him really fucking hard-- “Thor, stop it!”

With no regret whatsoever, Thor shoves Estrid away, uses the strength he’d been careful to keep at bay to make sure she goes far. Estrid rolls with grace and levers herself to her feet. Thor pulls himself to his full height and rubs at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He pulls back to look at it. It’s streaked with red. He grins.

“What--what on Earth happened?” Bruce asks, and he sounds genuinely concerned, harried, and maybe a little green. Thor turns to him, and he feels the soreness echo through his body in all the places Estrid had hit, but Bruce isn’t done. “You--one second, everything’s--fine, right, and then the lights are all--” his hands wave around his head “--flickery and--and sparking! What were you two even--even fighting about?”

“Nothing, Bruce,” Thor says, and walks over to his friend, still feeling everywhere Estrid’s blows had landed. He smiles his best encouraging smile, but it might not work so well, because he’s ninety-three percent sure there’s blood on his teeth.

Bruce gives him a Very Unimpressed Look. It’s marvelous. “You’re bleeding, Thor.”

“Only a little!” Thor looks to Estrid for backup. He finds it.

“It was a friendly scrap,” Estrid says, and limps over. Her robes are slightly singed--but only a little!--and there are bruises already forming on her skin, but she’s smiling, too. Smirking, is more like it, and she really is huge--

“You’re limping, Estrid,” Bruce says, and, oh, no, he sounds very disappointed. Thor blinks at Bruce, and tries not to shrink back at the Look he gets. Thor hates that Look. Hulk never gives him that Look, only Bruce. Maybe he doesn’t hate it--but he isn’t a fan! The Look says “look what you’ve done Thor” and “I’m very disappointed in what you’ve done Thor.” Neither are very pleasant, especially when combined.

Before Thor can open his mouth to say something, anything, to get that Look off Bruce’s face, Estrid says, “I invited him to fight, Bruce Banner, even knowing his strength.” Estrid limps to stand next to Thor and claps him, hard, on the arm. Thor resolutely holds in the wince. Old hag. Old, muscular hag--

Bruce doesn’t seem very convinced. But at least he doesn’t look as disappointed, which is always a plus. “Okay, Estrid.” He side-eyes Thor, and continues, “but that still doesn’t explain why.”

“Oh.” Estrid thinks for a moment.

Thor closes his eyes. Bruce is going to beat him up, and then Hulk is going to beat him up, and Loki and Brunnhilde will laugh in his face, and Heimdall will laugh at him behind his back if he isn’t already--

“My King was demonstrating why we, as Asgardians, cannot invite the Midgardians to duel.” At Bruce’s look, Estrid adds, “they are too fragile.”

Bruce is silent for a moment. But it isn’t his “I’m being quiet because all of my energy is going towards not turning green” silence, but more “why am I surrounded by idiots” silence. Then he looks at Thor, and the silence changes to “why is Thor such an idiot,” but it’s a Good silence, so Thor just grins at him.

“Okay, well, next time you have a friendly scrap,” Bruce says, voice dry, and this is going to be good, Thor can just tell, “could you send the Big Guy a memo? Maybe even invite him, because your little fight was about to upsize. Considerably.”

Estrid brightens, and Bruce does not. “It would be an honor to fight with Hulk of Asgard--”

“Estrid, I’ve already said no--”

Thor claps Bruce on the back before the two can get into it again. “Apologies, of course, Bruce! And I’ll apologize to Hulk when I see him next, whenever that may be. . .” Thor trails off, absurdly subtle, so subtle he’s scared Bruce won’t understand what he’s asking--

“Which may not be for a while, Thor,” Bruce says, and Bruce really must be a genius. Thor laughs a little bit at himself. Bruce sounds half apologetic and half unapologetic, which Thor would assume would cancel out, but they don’t. “We’re this close to Midgard, and I--I just--” Bruce runs a hand through his curls, gets his fingertips caught, and Thor pays him no attention at all. Bruce huffs out a harsh breath, and Thor finds himself rubbing his friend’s back ins gentle, hopefully soothing, circles.“I just don’t know how he’s--how he’s going to, y’know, react to it all. The memories, and the--the everything, you know?”

Thor sobers, continues to rub Bruce’s back. “I understand, Bruce.” He takes a moment, actually thinking through what he wants to say for once--shocking!--but this is Bruce and, by extension, Hulk, two of his closest friends. What he says now will impact the three of them. “I am only worried about--the progress the two of you have made together, thus far, and how it will be--impacted should you choose to--restrain him. If that makes sense,” Thor adds quickly, because while Bruce is understanding, and Hulk is--trying, he really has been, Thor doesn’t want any bad blood, at all, ever.

Bruce gives him a soft smile, and Thor is man enough, at this moment in time--as well as high enough on adrenaline from a good fight with a good friend--to admit that the small zap Bruce gets, but doesn’t jump at, because it’s happened enough times to make Thor feel like he’s a little boy with no clue what he’s doing, again, happens.

The frosting on the cupcake, as the Midgardians say, is that Estrid has been here to see it all. In plain sight. Another embarrassing moment in Thor’s life, and Estrid has it at her disposal. Fantastic.

Whatever. Thor refuses to be embarrassed, if only out of pure spite. Screw you, Estrid, you muscular, honorable woman. That’s not much of an insult, is it--

“I’m retiring to my chambers, King,” Estrid says, bowing her head, and Thor hates her, wishes their friendly scrap had gone on just a little longer-- “Sugar dreams, Bruce Banner.” Estrid takes her leave, as well as her battleaxe by the entryway, and Bruce sighs.

“It’s--it’s sweet dreams,” he mutters, and rubs at his forehead.

“She was half right.” Thor pats Bruce’s back one last time because he doesn’t want to singe the fabric of the sweatshirt. And not because Thor likes it, but because it’s Bruce’s, and what right does he have to destroy anything of Bruce’s--

Bruce does that thing where he laughs but it’s only blowing air out through his nose. It’s cute. Thor is still high on adrenaline, even though it’s subsiding, now, and he would like the record to reflect that fact. Also, Heimdall, please don’t tell Bruce, if you can hear this.

“I think I’m going to bed, too,” Bruce murmurs, and he has bags under his eyes, but when doesn’t he, and maybe Thor should go with him, just to make sure nothing bad happens. They’re on a ship from a trash-planet that was run by a guy who used a Melt Stick unironically, okay, so Thor is a little cautious! It makes sense!

“Okay,” Thor says, agreeable, if not a little sore. “I’ll walk you to your chambers.”

“You--you really don’t--”

“I know,” Thor says, and wraps an arm around Bruce’s shoulders, because if Loki conjured one sweatshirt, he can make another. “I want to. It’s fine, really. Let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a minute, lmao, sorry. I've had this chapter for a while now and I thought I would edit it some more but I didn't so if there are any mistakes feel free to point them out but also don't be surprised if I show up on your doorstep in tears. Sorry for the updates they may be more sporadic because at this point I would have to actually sit down and write out this bad boy and while my children need justice I'm figuring out that there's some stuff irl that needs to get sorted out so yeah hope u enjoyed this update because I love Estrid


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The halls are familiar, grey and cold, just like the rest of the damn ship. As Thor makes the familiar twists and turns, barefeet quiet on the metal floors, his visions twist and writhe in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's some...thhing. seven days later right? here. I'm trying. for u guys and for me. love u.
> 
> hey!! this is also before....the last chapter.....because...........I love being confusing.........sorry.......................so I hope it will all get cleared up later.......sorry again.....any questions u can either wait.....or ask me......or send me hate mail I gues.....

Thor has learned to trust his dreams.

That’s why when he dreams of--

\--getting toasted by some sort of--some sort of beam of pure energy, yellow light on a pitch black background, punching through him, peeling his very being back layer by layer--when he feels--

\--the burn starting from his skin and working its way toward his center at an alarming rate, burning, burning, burning, until his very heart feels as if it’s going to explode--he is going to disintegrate, turn to dust, the whole world--dust--

\--he wakes up in a cold, cold, electrifying sweat. Little blue arcs of lightning dance across the pools and beads on his skin, racing up and down his body and casting shadows in the grooves of his muscles and bones. His very intact muscles and bones, he’s pleased to report. While he is very, very, extremely, super sweaty, he is not at all, in any way, shape, or form, charred. Which is always a plus, of course.

The darkness of the room, of the Captain’s Quarters, is brought on by both the lights being powered off during the _Statesman’s_ night cycle, but also the pitch blackness of the space outside the, still overly large, window to his right. Thor tries not to look too much out the window. The dream is still fresh on his mind’s eye, and the dark backdrop outside is still much, much too similar to the--he refuses to believe it to be a vision of the future--the nightmare he’d just had.

First things first: he needs to check on Loki and Bruce.

Loki’s probably fine, Thor thinks as he shoves the bedclothes back and scrambles to his feet.

He’s the God of Mischief, Thor thinks as his ankle most assuredly does not get twisted in the sheets.

If he needs to, he can fake his own death, Thor thinks as he tears through another set of blankets.

Just a quick peek in to his brother’s chambers will suffice, right? It’ll be fine. Loki may not even be in there. Honestly, Thor isn’t a hundred percent sure which one of these rooms is Loki’s. It’s--not that one. And--nope, not that one, either. And--haha, yes, jackpot!

“Loki!” Thor whispers, but it isn’t really a whisper, what’s it called--a--a drama-whisper? He drama-whispers into his brother’s chambers, which are green and gold, with hints of yellow and black, and it reminds Thor of a bumblebee stuck in snot, and Loki has never appreciated that comparison-- “Loki--”

“What?” Loki asks, and, huh, his voice is just that little bit slower. Like he was truly asleep until Thor woke him up with his drama-whispering. Thor watches intently as his brother’s head rises from the plush blankets on his oversized bed. Without the magic and product securing it back, Loki’s hair is soft-looking, not as greasy or weaselly.

The thundering in his chest begins to settle, marginally, at the sight. His baby brother is safe. His baby brother is alive. His baby brother is here. Safe. Alive. Here. Safe. Alive. Here, safe, alive. Here, safe, alive. Here, safe, alive, here, safe, alive, here, safe, alive, here--safe--alive--

“Brother!” Loki drama-whispers, and Thor smiles a little smile, because Loki’s hair is standing at its end. Hey, wait-- “Brother, did you truly wake me just to--”

“No, no,” Thor says, and tries to tamp down on the storm clouds brewing in his chest. Those are not be helpful in any way, shape, or form. “Go back to sleep, goodnight.”

“Thor--”

But Thor closes the door before Loki can complain anymore, because while Thor loves him, and he does, of course, he also believes Loki should be the God of Complaining and Mischief, and Thor really doesn’t have time for that. He has to find Bruce. Immediately.

Which is a lot easier than finding Loki, because he’s been to Bruce’s room, has seen Bruce actually use it for its intended purpose--sleeping, mostly, or drawing on the windows--so there’s less to think about on the way there. Which isn’t so great, turns out.

The halls are familiar, grey and cold, just like the rest of the damn ship. As Thor makes the familiar twists and turns, barefeet quiet on the metal floors, his visions twist and writhe in his mind.

Suddenly, it’s not him being blasted, taking the full-force of what very well feels like MIdgard’s Sun. It’s Loki, in his horned helmet, and his cape lined with gold. The horns melt onto Loki’s screaming, pained face. The molten gold drips over his eyes, down his cheeks and his chin, leaving lines of red welts as it goes. Thor grimaces, twists his head roughly to the side to throw that image out. He can still hear the screams, see his brother’s wide eyes, staring at him, begging--

Thor tastes ozone and copper on his tongue. He can barely make out the grey of the hall through the haze of rage, through the overwhelming nausea the sight of his brother in such a position gives him. It’s too much, too much. Vaguely, Thor wonders if he should stop and breathe, but he needs to find Bruce--

Then, it’s Brunnhilde in his mind’s eye, being seared under the beam. She’s stronger, yes, older, more battle-worn than his little brother, but she’s breaking. She falls to one knee, then the other, and her hair disintegrates, she screams, and it’s so loud in Thor’s head, the colors too bright as they eat away at the edges of his friend’s skin, at the insignia on her forearm. Brunnhilde wears her Valkyrie garb, and it’s melting, searing onto her skin, charcoal in her hairline and collar bone, burning, burning--

“No!” Thor slams his fist into the nearest wall, breathing heavily, ragged. He shakes, lightning arcing up and down his arms in fits of electric blue and pops of angry, merciless white. He can’t think about that. Brunnhilde and Loki are fine. He just saw Loki. No alarms had sounded on the _Statesman_ , and Heimdall is watching. He can literally see the entire universe at once. If anything were to happen, Heimdall would let Thor know, or he would stop it himself. Heimdall has it under control, as always. Like he literally always does. Always.

With something that can be interpreted as either a snarl or a deep, deep, very angry breath, Thor removes his fist from the wall. There’s a rather large dent, and it’s slightly singed, if by slightly you mean the metal is smoking and slightly melted, then yes, it is slightly singed. Also, the dent takes up a rather large portion of the wall. It’s a good thing they’re only a few days from Midgard, now, or it might pose a bit of a morale problem.

Thor needs Bruce. Needs to find him.

“Dammit,” Thor says, and gives up on acting like everything is fine. He just slightly broke a wall. Everything is not fine, and he needs to get to Bruce before he does something stupid like punching a hole in a window and creating a Vortex of Death and Destruction. He feels like that’s the next logical step in the progression of things, here, and maybe he shouldn’t go find the man who turns into a rage monster and could toss him into the Great Unknown, but Bruce and Hulk are his greatest friends, and if he can’t trust them, who else is there?

Thor starts back down the hallway, determined. He needs to find Bruce. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bros. y'all know the mothman meme with the lamps? that's my favorite meme right now. I think my brain uses at least 12% of its power at all times towards thinking about that meme. 
> 
> anyways sorry this one's a little shorter :/ and trust me when I say that I am cliffhanging myself just as much as I'm cliffhanging u guys!!! I have no idea what's happening!!! why can't Thor just interact with Bruce and Protect Him Like He Wants To?? who knows? not me that's for sure!!! I didn't realize I wanted to never have anything happen in my writing ever but I guess that's just how it be sometimes ://///
> 
> for fun geeky marvel and other comic and other geeky nerdy stuff follow me on tumblr. my thorbruce/marvel/geek blog is [beastgravy](https://beastgravy.tumblr.com) and my main which is a ton of fun [poochiekinz](https://poochiekinz.tumblr.com)
> 
> message me on tumblr and I'll tell u secrets about Estrid. she's sneaky. also if u want to talk about how writing is the worst and y people Choose to do it then also that's an option because it's a question I ask myself On The Daily. 
> 
> also!! thank you for everyone who comments!! I read all of them!! and I love all of you who come back!! u know who u r ;-))))) I love u so much. I think about u all the time.

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, so I posted this, apparently, or something. Just some quick explanations for my future self so I don't forget anything I'm planning like the forgetful dumbass that I really am. Also, I would like to make it known that I have a pinterest and boards for all my guys, also a very funny joke about Brunnhilde but that can wait. 
> 
> Note to self: the reason you put All Media Types is so that you aren't restricted by all the Bullshit Marvel shoved into the movies, as well as all the Bullshit they left out. DON"T FORGET THIS, FOOL. 
> 
> Okay, now time for that Brunnhilde joke. It's on my pinterest, and I know, okay, how it sounds, but it's really funny. Brunnhilde is. . .a valcoholic. FUck, did I misspell it on my pinterest. Anyway that's the joke, but Now I'm worried I ruined my pinterest and that I look a complete fool. Shit.


End file.
